


It’s Not Okay

by IPutOnMyHeadphonesWalking



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Harry Needs a Hug, Harry thinks he deserves things he doesn’t, I am terrible with tags, Nightmares, Why Did I Write This?, Why are they so hard?, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-25 14:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18576361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IPutOnMyHeadphonesWalking/pseuds/IPutOnMyHeadphonesWalking
Summary: This has been his worst summer yet. He’s back in the cupboard. The Dursley’s are meaner than ever.And the worst part?Harry believes he deserves it all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t hate me.

Harry stared at the letters sprawled out before him, all with varying types of handwriting. Hermione's neat cursive. Ron's messy scrawl. Hagrid's even messier scrawl. They all bore messages of greeting, or at least the firsts of the summer did. Hermione told him of vacation plans. She told him of homework schedules and how he better be doing his. Ron told of quidditch points and magical things. He told of his father's work and Charlie's dragons. He told of the pranks his brothers played and the harping of his mother. Hagrid told him of new creatures and how Harry would love them. Harry liked reading these letters, they were comforting. But, when he didn't reply, the greetings turned to concern.

More and more concerned letters came through until Hermione finally said that she would tell Dumbledore if she did not receive a reply. So, reluctantly, Harry had taken out a piece of parchment and a pen (his quills were all locked up upstairs, and he only had time to grab important books during his nightly raids of the cupboard upstairs.) And he wrote. It was only a short letter. Just enough to sound believable and dispel any concerns. He told Hermione that he was fine and sorry for not writing back sooner. He told some lie of Hedwig being put away when in all reality, this was one of the first years Hedwig was allowed to be out of his cage. He told Hermione how the Muggles were only being a little mean, and how he thinks their afraid of him. This couldn't have been more of a lie. His Aunt, Uncle, and cousin all seemed to feel fine now that his wand was taken away, and was the meanest they've ever been. He told her he was okay, to tell the others, and that he probably could not write back after this, but he was still receiving letters.

Her reply was held in his hands. She wrote that she was relieved and would tell the others. Harry couldn't help but feel disappointed. He had half-hoped that she wouldn't believe him and would send Dumbledore to knock politely on Number 4's door, as he does. He had hoped that Dumbledore would tell off the Muggles and retrieve Harry. He wanted him to open the cupboard door and smile that brilliant of his. He wanted him to save Harry from this hellhole that was Number 4 Pivet Drive. The other half of him, however, was immensely glad that no one was here. No one here to witness his shameful life. No one here to see him curled up in his too small cupboard. No one here to see the bags under his eyes, or the way his ribs were visible even under the baggy clothes he wore. He couldn't even remember the last time he ate.

Oh, wait. Yes, he could. It was a bit of egg he had stolen from breakfast a few days ago. He was caught and was beaten mercilessly for it and was not allowed any food since, not even the infinitesimal table scraps.

So there he sat now. Well, he was half sitting, half laying, mostly just curled with his feet rested on the wall. He lay there on his cot, which was creaking from old age, reading letters in the small amount of light provided by the slits in the door. The air was musty and reeked of mildew and just, dust.

Though, to be completely honest, Harry would much rather be in the cupboard then outside with the Dursleys. When he had come distraught with the guilt and grief brought by Sirius's death, the Dursleys must have seen this as a sign of weakness and submission. They tested him at first, only being slightly meaner than usual, but soon gained confidence. They had moved him back into the cupboard about a week after he returned, and have been horrible since. Though, he had to say it was quite nice not to do chores anymore since the Dursleys apparently couldn't trust him with the responsibility. He only really emerged from his cupboard to cook meals and do little tasks.

So, Harry spent most of his time rereading the letters and petting Hedwig. It was quite depressing, stuck in his thoughts of guilt about Sirius's death. All of the what-ifs and I-could'ves ran through his mind. If only he had listened to Hermione. If only he had worked harder at Occlumency. If only he had listened to everyone and stayed put, Sirius would still be alive.

Harry fell asleep quietly sobbing with his head tilted back on the wall behind him.

Many tears were shed in the cupboard under the stairs.

Just as they were tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry woke feeling worse than ever. He should be happy. He was going back to Hogwarts today. He would see his friends. He would be away from the Dursleys.

But for some reason, Harry couldn't make himself feel happy. He kept waiting for the feeling of elation to come, but only a nauseating sense of anxiety enveloped him.

This summer was different to the others. Not in the sense that he was back to the cupboard under the stairs. Not because he was beaten harder than he had ever been before.

It almost felt as if he was another planet. Drowning in his grief, he was almost glad to be away from Hogwarts. Away from the pitying stares. Away from the constant reminders of his doomed life.

For some odd and sick reason, he wanted to stay at the Dursleys. He wanted to stay away from his friends, Hogwarts, Harry bloody Potter. He just wanted to sit in his cupboard for all eternity. Forget everything that ever happened. Forget the damned prophecy. Just sit and watch the spiders make their webs.

And if he had to face the sick wrath of Uncle Vernon, then maybe he deserved it. He had gotten Sirius killed. He killed his last real family, so it was only fair that he got stuck with his other hateful family members.

"BOY!"

Damnit. He had been sitting in his cupboard for too long and had forgotten about breakfast.

Harry slowly rose from his cot, joints aching from being curled up for too long.

Time for hell He thought bitterly, pushing the cupboard door open. He walked down the hallway, opening the door to the kitchen and dining room.

The morning view was as it always was. Dudley was sitting at the table, barely able to fit on his seat, Uncle Vernon was flicking through the paper with obvious boredom and Aunt Petunia was making notes on her daily planner. Though, they all stopped what they were doing (except for Dudley, who was doing nothing) for a split second the give Harry a disgusted glare.

Harry, who was dead on his feet, shuffled over to the kitchen to begin breakfast. Soon, the smell coming from the eggs was agonizing, and his stomach gave a pitiful, but loud, groan.

Too loud.

"Did you say something freak?" Crap crap crap crap cra-

"Your uncle asked you a question freak." Came Aunt Petunia's harsh but somehow poise voice.

His head clouded with dread of what he knew what was going to come.

"N-no. I didn't s-say anything." He stuttered, voice quavering from fear.

"Well I heard something," Uncle Vernon said with a sick smile while rising from his chair, "And I don't tolerate liars under this roof."

Uncle Vernon was steadily getting closer and Harry scrambled back...right into the pan of eggs.

The pan fell to the tile with a clatter, the sound filling Harry with downright panic. Uncle Vernon looked at the fallen pan, then back to Harry, his eyes filled with anger.

"You shouldn't have done that," The older man stated before snatching the still-hot pan and hitting the boy over the head with it, sending the frail teenager tumbling to the ground. Uncle Vernon then began to kick the boy mercilessly, almost to the point of unconsciousness.

Harry was in a world of pain, his head throbbing painfully from the pan. He could feel the bruises blossoming across his pale skin. Kick after kick was sent his way, each blow harder than the last. There was only one thought running through his head, repeated like a mantra and growing stronger with each kick, You deserve this.

"Vernon, don't rough him up too bad, he's going back to that freak house today." There came his Aunt's voice, stopping the kicks.

Uncle Vernon looked distastefully down at Harry before gruffing out, "Fine" and walking away.

Harry lay there for a moment, dreading the moment when he would have to get up. The moment came all too soon, and he struggled to his feet, only to start breakfast again.

All while doing so, Harry was trapped in his thoughts. He thought of how he deserved the painful bruises littering his body. He thought of how he deserved the painful throbbing in his head and the way his eyesight was hazy.

If Uncle Vernon hit me harder maybe I would have died, he thought, I would've liked that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. Don’t kill me. Please. 
> 
> Please review. Tell me what you liked, what you didn’t. 
> 
> I hope you have a GREAT day!


	3. To Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s first day back at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just received a wonderful comment on the first chapter, which reminded me that this fic was due for an update. So here ya go.

Harry sat hunched over on the wooden bench, hood up in hopes that no one would see him. His mind raced in worry of the year to come. He didn't want to go to Hogwarts, but he did. He didn't want to see Ron and Hermione, but he did.

He didn't want to be _Harry Potter,_ but he was.

Thankfully he didn't have to act on any of these insecurities since he hadn't interacted with any people from the wizarding world yet. That was probably due to the fact that he was _four hours_ early. The Dursleys had opted to drop him off as soon as possible so they could get back to their normal and freak-less lives.

So that meant Harry had to sit on this wooden bench avoiding the stares of the other people at the station, drowning in his anxieties, for four hours.

_Kill me now.  
_

* * *

Harry sat in the back of the Hogwarts Express desperately trying to hide away from any social interaction. He didn't want people to see the bruises on his face. He didn't want them to see how skinny he was. He didn't want them to see how he had obviously not taken a shower in forever.

He didn't want them to see how broken he was.

So there he sat in the corner of the seat next to the window, watching the people walk by.

His lonely tranquility didn't last long though, for he soon heard the door slide open revealing a confused Ron and Hermione, causing Harry to shrink further into his corner.

They both stared at Harry for a moment Ron looking confused and Hermione wearing a calculating look.

Ron was the first to move, walking to sit next to Harry, talking all the way, "Hey Harry," he started cautiously, "Why are we sitting all the way in the back?"

Harry answered by shrugging, not really wanting to speak. His chest still hurt from that morning.

Hermione slowly sat down in the seat across from the boys, her face now taking on a worried look, "Harry, are you okay?"

Harry simply shrugged again, still looking down, before muttering, "Mm fine."

Hermione, being Hermione just huffed, "Harry you are _not_ fine," she started in a tone that suggested she knew all, "You avoided us by sitting back here and you've barely spoken. Have we upset you or something?"

Harry, startled by her tone and bluntness, looked up (he soon realized this was a mistake) and glared at her, "No. No, I'm not upset with you. I-I just don't feel well."

As soon as Hermione had seen his face, her gaze immediately softened. She saw the bruises on his face. She saw the bags under his eyes. She saw how sunken in his face was, it was to the point where you could distinctly make out his cheek and jaw bones. She saw those eyes. Those eyes which were usually so brilliant and defiant, shining with intelligence, kindness, and sarcasm. They were _so_ hollow. Hollowed out of everything that made them great, and filled with so much pain. Pain, sadness, grief. It was how his eyes had looked last year at the Ministry, but amplified.

" _Bloody hell!_ " Ron so helpfully noted, "What _happened_ to you?"

Harry turned to look at him, his face regretful, "N-nothing. I told you I don't feel well, I must be sick or something. It's nothing. I don't want to talk about it." He stammered out, pulling his hood farther up and sinking further down into his chair.

Hermione wasn't having it though, "Har-"

" _I said I don't want to talk Hermione._ " He hissed, fully wanting this conversation to end.

"Harry, you need to talk to us." Hermione all but pleaded.

"That's where you're wrong Hermione," Harry started angrily, rising from his seat showing just how skinny he was, "I don't _need_ to tell you anything! This is _my_ business! I told you I'm fine, so that means I'm _fine._ "

And with that, he grabbed his trunk and stormed away to find a seat away from prying friends.

* * *

Harry sat down at the tail end of the Gryffindor table with his head resting on the wood. He had deflected all conversation and found that if you ignored someone for long enough, they eventually stopped asking.

He didn't pay attention to any of the people getting sorted, or the things being said by Dumbledore. He didn't pay attention to anything except his own thoughts.

However, he was stirred when the lovely smell of food flooded his senses. He looked up to see the feast had started.

Harry wanted to dive right in, but for some reason was wary. He felt as if he would be beaten if he decided to take a bite. He knew it was ridiculous but he couldn't get his uncle's ugly face out of his head.

So, as much as his stomach was begging him not to, he pushed his plate away from him and stood to exit the dining hall.

He walked out ignoring the stares and whispers and slowly made his way to the dormitories.

* * *

Harry lied on his bed, thankful for the day to finally be over. His head was still clouded from fear due to dinner. Being in the dark didn't help much either. It seemed to press in on him. The dark could be hiding anything. In the dark, he couldn't tell how big the room was.

For all he knew, this could be a cupboard.

Harry fell asleep in fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know the dialogue is crap, but dialogue is not my forte. 
> 
> Anyways comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> I hope you all have a wOnDeRfUl day!

**Author's Note:**

> Please please please review. I love every single one I get. Just tell me what I did wrong or right. 
> 
> Have a wonderful day!


End file.
